


Of Honour and Ice

by Breakingthestandards



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Excuse for all sorts of kinks and smut, F/M, First Time, Forced Pregnancy, Fuck Or Die, Reader-Insert, Sex Pollen, reader wakes up trapped in Elsa's body
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-20 12:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/pseuds/Breakingthestandards
Summary: This must be a weird dream, right?You wake up in a dungeon, in the hands of an evil witch and under the influence of pollen that stimulate certain... senses. Will you and Hans be able to escape, or will you be trapped to do the witch's depraved bidding and gift her an army of magic wielding children as she wishes for? And how come you look and sound like Elsa?Reader x Hans. (Though technically also a Helsa story).





	Of Honour and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> You wake up in a dungeon in the hands of a crazed old woman. And you're not the only prisoner she keeps.

Your head hurts. That is the first thought you have when you regain consciousness. You must have done something really weird yesterday to feel this way. What did you do last night? Had you slept on a brick?

Speaking of which…. You notice how your breath halts when you realise that your bed feels different. Harder. _Seems that brick idea wasn’t that far-fetched._ Should you look?

You decide to keep your eyes shut for a moment longer, too scared to look yet. You try to move your hands past your mattress and that is when you notice that you can’t move your fingers the way you want to. It’s odd, but there’s definitely something solid pressing your fingers tightly to one another. Something hard and unyielding. _Something like metal_ , your mind provides. Which is odd because you would have expected metal to feel cold. But for some reason, the material doesn’t feel cold at all.

You scrape your enclosed hands past the bed, only to hear the metal screech awkwardly. Now you know for certain that this is _not_ your bed. Because that noise sounds very much like metal scraping over stones, and when you think of it, the surface beneath you does feel like it could be just that: stones.

And then you hear it. A soft sound, much like a giggle, and instantly you open your eyes.

There she is. The source of the sound is an old looking lady, not particularly tall and not particularly handsome. In her youth she would have probably stood tall, but age has eaten away at her height and she stands bent, her back crooked much like her teeth. Wrinkles adorn her face. She gives the impression of your regular grandma. But she is not. This is a lady you have never met before.

You sit up on the bed in one swift movement. And then your eyes adjust to the dim light of the room and you feel them grow wide.

“Ah, yes, dearest. You are quite right,” the little old lady screeches. And you wonder what it is she replies to for you _haven’t said a thing_. But apparently you don’t have to, for she raises her hands up in the air and the room is suddenly brightly lit.

Only now you notice the torches hanging on either side of the walls. By some form of witchcraft it seems she has enforced them to give off more light. But that very same light now reveals to you a chamber much like a dungeon. You can see a small barred window at the top of the room to your left, indicating that the room your in is built on a lower-level. _Underground,_ you think alarmed. The only other entrance to the room is a heavy door behind the old lady.

Then you look down at yourself and there are no words. Your world stops. You were _right_.

Your hands are captured in some sort of shackles. Shackles that were unlike the ones you would have expected to receive in a dungeon, unlike the ones they always picture villains with in the television programmes. Shackles you’d seen before. In a film.

_Like iron gloves._

You realise that you have started to sweat. The discovery has made you nervous, the gloves frighten you. The idea that this is all one bad dream hits you, but then your focus shifts to your exposed legs and you instantly know that these are not the legs you went to bed with.

This is creamy white skin that peeks out through the blue of a long skirt. And the blue shoes on your feet are very familiar as well. And then, in panic, you look up higher at yourself and see your bosom in a light blue corset, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and a blonde braid that is so pale it could have almost been called white is hanging over your shoulder.

You squeeze your eyes shut to try and block out the world around you. _This must be some nasty dream_ , you think. If only you could pinch yourself now. And then the thought that you had claimed many times before that you would not have minded living in a fairy tale. But waking up as Snow Queen Elsa _bloody well_ freaked you out.

You want to take time to calm yourself, to think about the situation, but the old lady gives you none. She yanks hard at the chain attached to your shackles, making you tumble forward on the hard stone bed. _Bed,_ you think sardonically. _Slab more like._ You manage to stretch your arms in front of you, the metal framing your hands clinking to the dark stones, saving you from toppling over face first. As you straighten yourself, you glare at the old woman. _Crone_ , you mind angrily provides you. She was definitely no good news.

“Take back your ice, your majesty, and control yourself,” she said, and that’s the first time you notice the crackling sound under your feet. Despite the metal gloves and the chains, Elsa’s ice powers are manifesting itself. To your fear you see ice has formed underneath your feet and that a thin layer of fresh ice is slowly crawling over the stone bed, covering it inch by awfully slow taken inch. Then you hear her voice again, nearer this time: “Or we won’t be having a nice talk.”

“You’d better do what she says.” You turn your head sharply. _That was a man’s voice_. Were you two not alone?

Apparently not, because when you turn your head to the right you spot a similar stone bed like the one you’re one, but on it is a familiar looking man. _Good God, no._ It’s Hans. You had not noticed him before, as uncharacteristically silent as he had been to this point. But when you do notice him, you see that he is an absolute mess.

His hair is mussed, not neatly groomed as in the animation you’d seen. He too is shackled, but his cuffs are only covering his wrists and revealing his hands, not like the over-the-top metal gloves you are wearing. You think he looks battered and out of breath, despite the small smirk he bestows you with. His blouse is open and – _better look away_. As if the buttons had been torn off, the blouse leaves little to the imagination and reveals an attractive pale chest. You bite your lip and quickly look away.

You might not feel cold, but now you know that you can _certainly_ feel _heat_.

The old lady sees your reaction to Hans and laughs.  
  
“Ah, my dear, so good to have you back with us. When you fainted I feared my pollen had been accidentally swapped for the lethally dangerous Clackson one. Christina is like that sometimes, you know. Not a good apprentice at all. No. She’s no good. But to see you back with us is such a bliss, my dear. I am so happy.”  
  
You try to control your powers. You really do, but the old lady confuses you with what she says – _what is she talking about?_ And then she frightens you even more by stepping closer to you and taking your chin in her hand, lifting it up so you’re forced to look at her. She’s looking down at you like a merchant inspecting his cattle. _What is up with this woman?_

“I told you to control that damned ice of yours,” she now snarls at you. And oh – _if only you knew how_! You want to shake your head free but her grip is surprisingly strong for a woman who looks as frail and aged as she. And so you decide to face her head on. You stare back into her eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I can’t,” you say, your voice definitely the same as Elsa’s. “I don’t know how.”

You can hear Hans let out a chuckle from his position to your right but ignore him. Never breaking eye-contact with the old crone in front of you, you wait till she is done inspecting your face – _whatever did she wish to find there?_

Then she finally lets go and tusks. “Here I thought you had at least grasped the basics of how to manage your powers. Ah well,” she sighs. “Never mind.”

The ice is already retreating. You’re not sure if it is because you are focusing on trying to look intimidating, or if the old woman has something to do with it. But you see the thin layer disappear from the stones of your bed. It feels like a little triumph.

Until you feel the warmth spreading through your body. The sensation is almost overwhelming, not at all the innocent tingle in the pit of your belly when you were looking at Hans’ open blouse. This was more dangerous, like a heat spreading through your core and swimming via your veins to every organ, to your hands, to your chest. It distracts you and you find it hard to concentrate on what the strange old woman is saying.

“As I was explaining to Hans earlier on, I have a little quest for the two of you,” as she talks she steps away from you, her back towards you, and you have a few fleeting fantasies of ripping yourself free from your chains and jumping at her from behind, knocking her over the head with the iron gloves and then making your escape. _Of course,_ no such thing happens. Doesn’t mean you don’t try to tug at your chains.

They only rattle. It’s pathetic.

The old woman halts and turns to face you again. “If you’re a good girl, I might even take off your chains.” You feel caught, as if she made that comment merely because she heard your feeble attempt to escape.

Your eyes slide to Hans. He’s looking flustered. _What the hell has that woman done to him_ , you wonder. Is he poisoned? His cheeks are rosy and he’s taking shallow breaths. You can see he’s doing effort to hide his current condition, but you notice these changes anyway. He’s looking straight back at you and it shocks you when your eyes lock with his. There is an emotion in there that scares you. His green eyes, always so bright in the images you had seen of him, were now dark with some kind of primal hunger. You quickly look away, feeling flustered.

“What do you wants us to do?” You hear yourself ask the question before you even think of whether it is a wise one. But the old lady doesn’t seem to mind your impudence.

When you look at her again you see her smile.

“I need for you two to get together,” she starts, then she presses a finger to her lips. There’s glee there, shimmering in her eyes. It unnerves you. Yet the ice doesn’t grow back beneath your feet. And instead of the room getting colder – which you suppose you would not even feel – it is getting hotter. _What is happening to me?_ You wonder. Your skin starts to feel heated, it reminds you of having a fever. But you decide not to want to let it show. She may _not_ know you are starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Get together?” You ask innocently. “But we already are.”

“No, no, my dear,” she smiles at you cheekily and wiggles her finger in the air. “You know what I mean.”

Lost for words, your eyes seek those of Hans again. You find his easily for they seem to have never been taken off of you. Somehow you expect to see a smirk on his face, to see him taunt you because he has the chance. But he’s looking serious at you instead.

“Come on, you know what she means,” he says, and it angers you.

“I do not,” you retort, almost childishly so.

“You should,” the old woman interjects.

“But I don’t!”

“Well, I do,” _he_ retorts, and you glower at Hans angrily. But there’s still no smirk on his face. Not even the faintest hint of a smile. This is odd, you think, because Hans has always been a master of his emotions. In the films he looks charming, happy, interested, and cruel whenever it suits him. But here, here he just looks pained. As if breathing hurt him.

His flushed cheeks, his parted lips, and then those serious eyes settled upon you. It makes something crawl inside of you, but you’re not sure whether to call it butterflies. Because you feel pity for seeing him like this. Sweating, panting. _Whatever has the old woman done to him that he can’t even find the energy to tease you?_

_Oh,_ you have a very good idea of what he might be hungry for. But you want the unknown woman to explain it to you. Why? Why would she do this to the two of you? Was she some kind of deranged Frozen fan?

“My dear, even after all those years of isolation I would think that the future Queen of Arendelle would have been taught of this,” the woman in question croons. _Oh, how you wish you could shoot an icicle straight at her._

(You even _try_ , but nothing much happens. Though the corner of her lips twitches upward a little as if she has sensed your attempt to attack).

“After all, such knowledge is needed as it is part of the task of a Queen to provide for her Kingdom.”

You look at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my dear Queen,” here the old woman bows mockingly and you hear Hans’ breaths turned more ragged, “that your tutors at the castle should have informed you about the creation of an heir.”  
  
That’s when you, in all of your panic and confusion after waking up in the body of somebody else, realise what she’s been going on about. Reproduction. _Sex_.

_Really?_

Your eyes turn wide as you cry out “Never!” And you can hear Hans shift on the stone slab-like bed at the other side of the room. But the old woman cackles and isn’t affected by your words at all.

“My dear Snow Queen,” she starts, and you start struggling with your bonds. “Don’t act like it is all that bad. Don’t you think I haven’t thought about the pros and cons? That I haven’t sought out a clever match for you?” Here she waves her hand at Hans and as you follow the movement, your eyes land on his flushed face, his parted lips, his rapid breathing, and you realise how handsome he is in reality. Even better than the pictures.

But still you tear your eyes away from him to look at the old woman in disdain. As you speak it is through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to play your game.”

She tusks you again. “My dear, it is not a game. It is of vital importance that you get a child with our beloved _fallen_ Prince of the Southern Isles.”

You open your mouth to object but she is rambling on and you do not get the chance.

“I thought to myself, what would be the best match? And then I got it. Something to match the ice, something to expand your powers, to add to it, to make it more like my own. And here he was. Well, fallen from grace it was easier to find him and get my hands on him. Then I locked him away and waited for the opportunity to arise to get my hands on you. That opportunity arose quicker than I had thought.”

You glare at her and wonder what has happened to get Elsa in this predicament. To get _you_ here.

“Then of course, there was the issue of your powers. They are strong and can be controlled a little by the gloves that I had especially made for you.”

You look down at the iron around your hands, a gesture the old woman somehow interprets as disbelief, for she continues in a sing-song voice, “Ah yes, don’t look so shocked. I am sure you must recognise them from somewhere. After all, I could not have made them without the help of my dear old friends the trolls.” She pauses and glances at Hans. But you do not see this. Your eyes still rest on the gloves around your hands. And you worry because your hands are feeling numb. As you stare at them you notice how the ice on the stones has entirely gone. _Was it the effect of the gloves?_

“Hans kindly informed me that you have seen gloves like these before. I believe your own parents had them made for you,” here she halts, as if she just revealed something hideous to you, something that needed to sink in. Of course, you had already deduced such a thing when you had been watching Frozen for the umpteenth time. And it wasn’t as if it had been _your_ parents who had done this. You _weren’t_ Elsa. You never had been. This must be some kind of dream that your twisted mind had come up with. You had always fancied Hans even though he had just been an animated character. _Yes_ , you deduce. _This must be your wicked mind playing tricks_. Soon you would wake up in your own bed and _who knows_? Perhaps you would even regret that it had all been a dream.

For a dream, you were dreaming quite complicated. You look up at the old woman again. She still has not told you her name. But you are pretty sure she wasn’t in the story.

“Poor thing,” she continues, unaware of the thoughts raving in your mind. Delight is gleaming in her eyes. “Cursed from her birth with powers too complicated to understand. But _I_ do. _I_ understand them. I have had them and _more_.”

Once again, this knowledge does not shock you. You can only imagine how well her speech would have worked if the real Elsa had been here. But instead, here’s you. Looking at her. Unaffected.

“The gloves would not be enough, no. They only withhold a fragment of your magic. So I had to device a different plan. And then I had it. The pollen of the Poppymoth tree. Very rare. The pollen do exactly what I want. And the need will be so great that what limited control you thought you have will dwindle to nothing. You’ll get so hot that your ice will melt!”

She laughs and you gasp. “These pollen. You used them on us,” you deduce, and she chuckles.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“You poisoned us.”

You try to sound composed and not to show the fear you feel. _What would happen to you?_ You try and sense if something feels different. Well, apart from your entire body being different.

Your hands are numb. And there’s the odd warmth, still spreading through your lower regions. It’s expanding there fast, rapidly making its way through your core until you feel the need to squeeze your legs together tightly to ease some of the tension.

The woman seems to notice, and so does Hans. You hear him gasp and turn to look at him again.

_You wish you had not._

The warmth deep inside of spreads. You notice it’s getting harder to breathe.

“Think of it not as poison but as a blessing,” the old woman crones. “I blessed you.”

She sounds way too cheery and you wish you had some kind of power to make her stop. If this was one of your dreams, could you not control parts of it? You try and imagine a large hammer appearing above her head, ready to fall and make her shut up. But no matter how hard you try, nothing appears.

“Blessed us? Damned us,” you hear Hans curse at her, but she turns around and he grows quiet again.

“What do you want from us?” You hear yourself say, seeing as how nothing you can think of will get you out of this predicament. And as she turns to you once more you can see a twisted smile on her face when she says this one word:

“Breed.”

Your mind freezes, thoughts are impossible. Not that you don’t want to have sex with Hans. _No_. He is hot. And you do sometimes feel the itch and fantasize. But under these circumstances? This is _forced._ This is no hot love-making. This is… _wrong._

“The pollen awaken your sexual urges. They bring men back to their most basic, most primitive urges. And the fun thing is, there’s no cure.”

She laughs.

The bloody witch dares to laugh!

“Your body prepares itself for it even now as we speak. You’re getting aroused. Already you can feel the slick starting to spread between your folds. Your body starts to crave satisfaction, more and more until the arousal pains you and it becomes too much to bear. You need relief, search for it desperately. Perhaps you might even try with your own hand. But,” here she gestures at both your own bound hands as well as the bound hands of Hans. The metal enclosing your hands now makes extra sense. She made sure you could not find relief that way.

As you glare daggers at her, it is as if she has just read your mind when she continues, “it would not help even if you tried, your majesty. You see, the curse of the pollen can only be remedied by something more permanent. Bodily contact, an exchange of bodily fluids. Of course, even then it might take a while before the effect is lessened, but still.” Here she smirks and her eyes darken. “You are lucky I have enough pollen left to keep you two love doves in check for the next few years or so. Be prepared to give me an _army_ of sorcerers.”

 _What? How? No!_ You must have misheard her. Even Hans is struggling against his bounds again. You can see it from the corner of your eyes and hear the rattling of his chains. He growls at the old witch.

Then you shout out the only defence you can come up with.

“You’ve got the wrong person!”

_I am not Elsa! And I won’t breed your goddamn army._

“Oh,” her evil laugh pierces your ears, shrill and careless. “Methinks I’ve got the right person. The right persons even,” she laughs and you feel panic rise deep within you, at the same pace of the slick that is slowly nestling between your thighs. _What can you do?_

“Why?” You cry out as you struggle against your bounds. But the shackles to your iron gloves are attached to a ring on the floor next to the bed.

“It is so simple, your majesty,” the old woman starts and _oh_ , how you _hate_ her already! “I am old. I am not getting any younger. I just want to pass on all of my knowledge to someone with great skills. Someone who wields magic in a way like I have. A _worthy_ apprentice.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. She is old already. _This woman looks like she should have been deceased yesterday._

“Now I don’t have much time left, but still time enough for this to work. All I need is an heir, someone to inherit my skills, someone who can be a true and promising apprentice.”

“And you could not have made a child yourself?” your words are sharp as you huddle your bound wrists against your chest. The eerie warmth has been spreading up your body and made your nipples peak. You try your best to hide the effect the pollen have on you.

The woman’s face falls into a sneer. She gestures rudely at you with her right hand, signalling you that your words have hit a sensitive snare. “You do _not_ question me, even if you’re royalty. The both of you, you will do as I say. It’s not as if your bodies will allow you to do anything different.”

You sit up just a tiny bit straighter, your back hurting from the sharp stones you have been leaning against all this while. You feel a sharp pain sting deep inside of your core as you shift – a pain of need and of emptiness. Your body is already craving a man _no matter who_ , as long as he brings you relief.

Still you find strength to combat these feelings.

“I will never have sex with him,” you say firmly.

But your body disagrees. You can feel the muscles of your cunt squeeze together tightly, deep inside of you. A hateful betrayal of your body. The slick is covering your nether lips in abundance, soaking your panties. It feels unpleasant to have your panties this wet, it feels dirty, and you want nothing more but to take them off and get a fresh pair. Get rid of all this slick. But how, if what she says is the truth?

“Then you die,” the old woman states simply.

“Then I’ll die,” you snarl in return. Another squeeze deep inside. You grit your teeth together. You shall not lose from your own body.

For a moment the dungeon is quiet save from the sound of heavy breathing. Then she smirks.

“Either you do it or you don’t,” she says, matter-of-factly. “I know how human resolve works, especially with a man and a woman attracted to each other.”

She turns her back to you and very slowly, agonisingly slow to be honest, she makes her way to the dungeon door.

You can feel the slick between your legs as you shift. _God, please make it stop._

The woman rattles with some keys that she had very well hidden under the upper layers of her skirts, signalling that she must have had herself locked in with you, perhaps to stop an attempt of escape. With the key slowly turned in the lock, you hear Hans drawing a deep breath, as if he is ready to speak.

_How is he feeling? Is he feeling just as bad as me? Has he wet his own trousers yet with arousal? No, don’t go there thoughts! Don’t think._

But he doesn’t, and the old woman is out of the cell before you have a chance to try a different approach to get yourself out of here.

“Wait!” You shout as the door falls shut and you hear the key turn and twist on the other side. “Wait, please. What is your name, who are you?”

But she has locked you in again and by the sound of footsteps retreating she has already left.

 _Okay, don’t cry_. It is odd how lost you feel now that the woman has left you here to your fate. Even despite your counterpart being Hans, who is not at all the least attractive male you have ever encountered, but it is the confusion. The fact that you are trapped in a body different to your own and that you are experiencing such extreme emotions in it. It frightens you, and you bring your bound hands to your face to hide your eyes. _Please don’t cry. I’ll wake up soon and then it’ll all be over and done with and I’ll be laughing for having such a stupid childish dream_.

Childish? Nothing was childish about this fairy tale based dream. If anything, the implications were that everything was very adult.

Your skin feels clammy, a soft layer of sheen has already started to form. You can see it in the valley of your breasts. Your chest is heaving up and down at an alarming rate.

You _want_ it. _Need_ it. But you have to deny these feelings. _For God’s sake._ You have to. Even if it is a dream. Ignore the tingling in your core and the slick between your legs.

Hide those feelings, conceal them.

 _Conceal don’t feel._ How ironic to be thinking those words right now.

A warm palm on your shoulder makes you snap back to reality and you look up to see Hans looming over you. His chains might obstruct his movements but it appears his leash is longer than yours. _Deliberately_ , you think. And unlike you his hands are free, the only shackles between his wrists. They rattle with the movement but you hardly notice.

“Elsa,” he breathes your name as a pained groan, filled with longing and craving.

You look up into his deep green eyes and see the lust that is swirling there. His breathing is heavy as he leans closer to you, his skin hot against your own. You feel the heat that radiates from his body and realise, in this moment, that with your hands bound as they are and with your powers diminished to nothing, there is nothing you can do to stop him if he wants to take this any further. _He can easily overpower you like this._

Your eyes widen in fear.

“I can’t control myself much longer, Elsa,” his words come out as a moan and you know what it is that he means to say. Even before he speaks the words your eyes are drawn towards the tent in his white trousers and you just know that he is about to give in. That he has decided to _ravish_ you.

“I need to take you,” it’s a whisper, a plea. And although he frightens you the sound he makes has you pity him. He can’t help it as much as you can. And he probably had the pollen used on him first. But still, this is not how you imagined your time with Hans to be all those times you fantasized about his character.

You can feel his hand run down your shoulder, taking the ice-made fabric of your dress along and leaving pale skin in its wake. You try to hide your face behind your gloved hands again, embarrassed that the handsome Hans has gotten this far already and that his deeds make you feel _hot._ Bothered. In need of release.

 _No, it’s the pollen_ , you remind yourself. But _oh_ , how _hard_ it gets to think properly. Your mind feels like every thought is wrapped in a haze. All you can see is Hans. His lips, slightly parted, and his tongue flicking out to lick them. You can feel his hot breath against your cheek when he leans forward to pull your top down and you can hear how, for a moment, he forgets to breathe.

But whatever he thinks, you do not know. He makes no comment on your exposed breasts and you are too scared to look down. And when his hand travels down your stomach to rest over your bellybutton, and then travel even lower, you realise how your dress isn’t just stripped off of you, but is slowly melting away. _Huh?_

_Oh no._

You are left naked all too soon. Naked, frightened and aroused.

You try to squeeze your arms in front of your chest, hiding the peaked nipples, hiding your firm breasts. But Hans takes your wrists and pries them aside to gaze upon you in admiration. You can see how his brows raise in approvingly. “So beautiful,” he breathes, and then suddenly he dives in for a kiss.

His lips capture yours and instantly you try to pull away. But Hans’ grip is still tight on your wrists. He leans closer to you and that is when you feel it. His hard throbbing member is pressed firmly against your leg. You try to breathe, but his tongue presses against your lips and when you part them, his tongue slips in and starts brushing against your own, battling for dominance.  
  
Both your chains are rattling and clinking against each other, intertwining in a way you know might happen to the two of you soon. Despite you both being shackled, you know Hans has the overhand. You can feel it in the pressure he applies to the kiss. _Desperately in need of release._

He presses your hands firmly aside, then slowly he relinquishes his grip. At the same time he breaks the kiss but his breath remains hot on your lips.

 _Oh God,_ that kiss has done more to you than you would like to admit. You can feel your own slick between your legs, gathering between your lips. You watch Hands look down at you through half-lidded eyes. Eyes that are dark of desire.  
  
His chest is rising and falling rapidly and your eyes are drawn to his well-shaped skin, revealed only because his blouse is undone and parted till about half-way his stomach. You never hear the sound of a zipper, you never notice how his hands move swiftly to his own tenue, you don’t remember that people in his time, in this tale, would be wearing old-fashioned designs with buttons and what-not. And so you think yourself safe until you feel it.

His hard throbbing member is pressed against your thigh. But this time it is not covered by the fabric of his clothes. This time, his skin feels hot against your own and you can feel slick of the tip of his cock. _Pre-cum,_ you realise, and your eyes widen at the realisation. All he needs to do is get that cum inside of you and…..

You struggle.

“Hans, no! We can think of something else,” you try, but by God, he is _strong_! “Don’t give her what she wants!”

His hands are on you again, grabbing your lower arms and forcing you down onto the bed. You can feel the uncomfortable hard stones against your now bare back. You don’t like this at all, and you keep wriggling in his grip, trying to wiggle your way out from underneath him. You can feel his stiff cock slip and slide past your thigh.

He bends over you and his auburn hair falls to hide his eyes. His lips are near your cheek and you hear him whisper in your ear. “What about giving _me_ what _I_ _want_?” He sounds begging but there’s something dark and tainted about his words. “Just let me in, Elsa. I’ll promise you won’t regret it.”

You open your mouth to protest but he is too fast. His lips capture yours in another hungry kiss while he holds down your arms with just one hand. It feels so unfair. Why does your body have to betray you like this? Why is your skin burning? Why do you sigh and give in to his touch? You part your lips, hardly aware of what you’re doing, that you are giving in. But it happens. His tongue brushes against yours whilst you feel his free hand slide down your stomach to rest on the triangle of pale hair above your cunt. You press your knees against each other, knowing he intends to go lower, and groan into the kiss when you feel his hand forcefully find its way between your thighs despite your effort.

And then his fingers are teasing your entrance and you groan once more. He breaks the kiss, but only to start trailing kisses down your cheek and neck. “Hans, no,” You try to reason with him, but you hear the filthy wet sound of your body’s betrayal. Hans brushes his fingertips past your moist netherlips and only withdraws his hand to rub his fingers past each other. You can hear the slick sound of your own fluids. You’re wet. Your lower region is hurting with want. You can feel your muscles spasm, craving for something deep down inside of you to be thrusted and thrusted and-

You turn your head away from him. Unwilling to face him, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Hans,” your plea is a sad sigh, but he answers by biting gently in the soft flesh of your left shoulder. You can feel his hair brushing past your cheek and smell the musk earthy scent of woodlands and forest coming from his sweat-covered skin. You can feel his chest against you, the way his heart is beating and his breaths are rapidly drawn.

And then his left hand is on his cock and your eyes fly open wide when you feel him press against your entrance. He sure isn’t about to waste any time, for he starts pressing in, the head of his thick cock begging for entrance which your tight quim isn’t used to give. You start to squirm again and start pleading, “No, Hans, we can find other ways, don’t put it inside,” but he already is and with a grunt of relief he presses his hips closer to yours and you can feel the head of his cock press into your pulsing wet heat.

It is the pollen. It must be. The fuck or die. But your cunt is pulsing and seems to welcome him in. You can feel Hans press forth, never hesitating as he slowly keeps pushing himself deeper into your slick core. You grit your teeth, your eyes wide at the sensation of him stretching you.

It hurt. It fucking hurt. As if his cock was piercing you open. Despite his gentle pace of filling you, you feel sore before he even has started and realise that whatever Elsa has done in her life, having sex with penetration definitely hadn’t been among it. Your thoughts are confirmed when Hans, his breath catching in his throat, withdraws a little and his eyes turn down to where your bodies are now joined. You see a small smirk forming on his otherwise pained face and can’t help but to think _Bastard_. He seems to be enjoying this a tad too much. The villain.

But he cuts your thoughts short. “Oh Elsa, there’s blood down there. I didn’t know you’d been waiting for me.”

 _Excuse me?_ You wish to say. Waiting for him? But you can’t get the words out of your mouth for Hans has suddenly and without warning snapped his hips forward against your own and buried himself deeply within you once more. You gasp, your back arching as you throw your head back at the movement.

He does it again and you have the same reaction. You gasp for breath, but Hans merely chuckles as he starts to pick up a slow pace. “I’m sorry, your majesty. Does it hurt?” He finally releases your arms which he had kept pinned next to the left of your head to the bed. But you don’t even bother to move them. Hans places his right hand on the stones to support himself and his thrusts become a bit fiercer. You feel how your whole body jostles slightly with the movement. “Don’t you worry, my Queen. I’ll make it all better.”

A few more sharp thrusts before he halts in his movement and whispers in your ear again. “I’ll make you _beg_ me for more.”

A sharp thrust follows and you wince, feeling how deep his cock has gone that the tip bumps against something deep inside of you.

Now you snap at him, your eyes open and focused firmly upon him as you grit your teeth. “You bastard. You enjoy this!”

He’s inside completely, filling you to the hilt, and you can feel how his balls press against your skin. He pulls out again and thrusts inside mercilessly. You yelp, a sound you can’t help but to make with each deep thrust he takes. He hooks one of your legs up with his hands, folding it over his shoulder, and moans appreciatively. The sounds of wet flesh slapping against each other, of your slick squelching sinfully with each thrust made, fills the chamber. You can’t do more but yelp and moan and make all these funny little noises your body makes you produce with each perfectly angled thrust.

“I enjoy this,” Hans confirms through gritted teeth. But his aren’t gritted from anger like yours were before. His are gritted because of the effort he has to put into his movements. His face shows his concentration and the pain he experiences in need of his release.

“And so do you, Elsa. Look at the way you’re _inviting_ me in. You love this as much as I do. You _need_ this as much as _I need this_.” Here he falters shortly in his thrusts to look down at you. He even manages to smile. “Yet you still try to deny it. It’s like your ice powers. You’re ashamed of it. Of admitting that you find me attractive. You crave my touch and suffer without it.”

He slows down in his movements again, slowly pulling out till only the tip of his cock is still inside of you. And oh, how empty you feel without him fully buried inside of you. Your whole cunt pulses and squeezes in the hopes of drawing him back in. It’s despicable how horny you can be in a situation like this. And then, Hans’ voice dripping with lust as he growls against your skin. “How could I deny my queen her dearest, darkest desire?”

And you _let go_. You cease any form of struggling you had because he is _right_. He is so _darn fucking right_. Your cunt hurts from his thrusts, but you can’t decide whether it is because he is the first to abuse you there in such a manner or whether it hurts because it isn’t enough. Your nipples are peaked, hurting from arousal, and each time his chest brushes past them it makes you want to gasp because it _feels_ so _right_. There are knots in your tummy and your head feels light and you can’t help but focus on the ache between your legs.

Each thrust of him is heavenly. He is not gentle with you and as time proceeds he starts to become even rougher. You can feel his heated skin against your own, can smell him as he is all around you. He is taller, hunches over you as he thrusts, and you focus on his Adam’s apple bopping in his throat with each gasp he takes. It is undeniably sexy.

Since when does he look this good? With flushed skin and an eager determination in his eyes and the way his fingers dig deep into your thighs as he lifts your ass to control your movements entirely, he thrusts into you harder and harder. And you let him.

You actually let him fuck you.

And all you do is moan when his cock hits you deep inside, hitting your cervix, pounding against it mercilessly with each hard thrust. Your fingers curl inside the metal gloves and your eyes roll back inside your head. Your lips part and only the slick sounds of your own cunt as his cock works in and out of you and your own moans and his heavy breathing reach your ears. Your vaginal muscles start pulling on his cock harder now as he thrusts, until they start to spasm out of control. You feel a whole new wave of wetness gush out of your core, slipping down Hans’ dick. Yet he keeps on thrusting while your cunt is clutching his cock eagerly, milking him, but he does not come. _Not yet._

It surprises you how he was the first to be poisoned, the first to act on his lust, and yet you are the first to come, despite the ache of it being your first time.

You are aware that a sad mewling sound has escaped your lips. Hans must have heard it too. You hear him attempt a short chuckle, but it falters quite soon, and instead, he presses his torso tightly against your upper body. He moves the cuffs behind your head until they rest at the same height as your neck, having his arms around your head now while he buries his face in your neck. He is enveloping you, covering as much of your body with his as he possibly can. But the position also reminds you too much of a hug, as if he’s holding you in his arms like a lover would.

He keeps thrusting. Your mind registers that as you come down from the height of your prolonged orgasm. Why doesn’t he stop? The heat is leaving you just a little, your lust-hazed mind gets a little clearer, and your cunt starts to go from throbbing to aching. The longer he takes to pump into you, the more awkward the feeling between your legs become. His thrust turn less pleasant, your skin inside feels raw and your cervix aches from the abuse it is receiving. Yet he keeps on thrusting and all you can do is take it as you try to breathe in his embrace.

You pray inside your mind that it will be over soon.

And then you feel it. His thrusts become erratic. His cock bumps against your cervix with each fucking thrust and it hurts. “Pull it,” you beg, both to stop this madness and to stop the pain your cunt is giving you. “Pull out, please.”

But he doesn’t. And in a few more thrusts he groans against your skin and stills against you. You can feel a warmth spreading deep inside of your cunt and you know it is sperm. _Hans just came inside of you._

“Oh, Elsa,” he groans, his voice too sweat for what has just occurred. “You’ll thank me for this once it’s done.”

But you don’t think you will.

You wait until he finally rolls off of you. A nasty wet sound is heard when he slips free from you and you instantly squeeze your legs together and flinch. It hurts below. But you don’t tell him. Instead you turn to lay on your side and opt to ignore him as you battle with your own thoughts. _How_ did this happen and _how_ did you invent such a real-feeling dream? Was it a dream even or could you call it a nightmare? You wanted to have sex with Hans, but on your own choosing. And you had not thought that sex could feel unpleasant as it did even after it had felt so good a moment before. _And how the hell can your dream feel this real_? You place your bound hands between your legs, pressing the metal against your sore vagina.

Hans lets out a sigh. Instead of returning his own slab he nestles beside you. “Elsa,” It is a question that is whispered, and he sounds sincere. But you ignore him anyway and squeeze your eyes shut.

He sighs again. “I start to feel normal again. You?”

You don’t reply but that in itself seems to be enough of an answer for him to continue.

“It must be the effect is wearing off.” He is silent for a beat, then, “It might be we achieved what she wanted in one go and she might let us go now.”

“No,” you still don’t look at him but you can’t stand his useless rambling. “She won’t let us go. She needs an heir, an apprentice.”

You hear Hans lick his lips. Clearly he is thinking of a way to reply. When he finds it, you feel how he presses his knees against your legs and rests his bound hands against your back. “Then think of it this way, at least we can think again. I don’t know about you but my mind was clouded. I could not think. I could not even breathe. And I am not prepared to die when the solution is laying with a beautiful woman I have always-“ here he halts abruptly, as if he has said too much already. You can almost _hear_ how he bites his tongue, but he is already too late. Your curiosity is peaked.

“A woman you always what, Hans?” Elsa’s voice again. Ever since you awake in this dream you have been speaking with her voice and somehow she made everything sound less angry then you had intended for it to be.

Hans sighs behind you. You can feel his limbs shift and deduce he must be uncomfortable with whatever topic you have breached by asking this question.

“It doesn’t matter, Elsa.”

Now you sigh, disappointed. The action makes Hans tense behind you.

“We should think of a plan. A way to get us out. Are Anna and her fiancé nearby?”

You want to shout at him ‘how should I know?’ but decide to keep silent. He doesn’t know that you’re not really Elsa, after all. You just wake up shortly before he started having sex with you, so how could you know? You weren’t there when the real Elsa got kidnapped.

“I don’t know,” you truthfully answer, and still you refuse to look at him. But at least your eyes aren’t squeezed shut any longer. Instead, you are staring at the black bricked dungeon wall in front of you. “But I trust Anna and Kristoff to come up with a plan to rescue me.”

“Good,” Hans says, a little too fast. Now it’s your turn to shift on the bed.

“Well, you?” You ask when Hans remains quiet.

“I have twelve brothers. Twelve chances you might think of close-kin who could rescue me,” here you hear him smile sadly and shake his head. “Wish it were so, but my brothers don’t like me. Never have and never will. And after what I did in Arundelle they want nothing to do with me whatsoever.”

“You got banished?” You ask.

Hans stiffens behind you and you know he’d rather you would not ask.

“I lost my title and everything. I had twelve brothers who could have saved me. But as it stands, I have no one who cares where I am or go. Wish it was different, your majesty.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Call you what?”

“Your majesty. It doesn’t feel right. Not after what we just did. Besides, I don’t feel much like a Queen now.”

“As you wish, Elsa.” You hear his voice is lighter again, pleased. “Well, our minds might be less clouded but I feel extremely tired. Our plans for escape will have to wait till after I’ve had a short rest. In the meanwhile, let us hope that sister of yours and her new lover are able to break us out of here.”

You hear his tone has turned jocular. Yet you don’t bite. You don’t reply because quite frankly the thought of Anna and Kristoff finding you here, naked and in the arms of a more or less naked Hans, scares you. _Anything but being found like this._

“Well, good rest,” Hans whispers and you feel his knuckles gently run down your spine, as if it’s his gentle way of saying good night. Oddly enough, you relax a little at the gesture. Your eyes feel droopy too and the idea of catching some sleep is not unwelcome.

You stare at the wall ahead of you and wonder if, when you close your eyes, all of this will be gone when you wake up again. Logic says it will, because there is no way this can be real.

Yet silently you hope differently. Because Hans feels warm and nice beside you and the odd itch is already crawling back between your legs. You squeeze them tightly together and close your eyes. His cum is on your metal gloves but most of it you know is still deep inside of you. You’re not ready yet for what is ahead, but you also know that you won’t go down without a fight.

If you wake up here again tomorrow you will make a plan to escape. And with that thought, you close your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> One shot? Multichapter? Not sure yet what will happen, but ideas a plenty for more.


End file.
